Monday, July 06, 2009
like it was 06
So E was in town over the weekend, just as I, ironically, decided to reintegrate into the social scene, and just as that Pink Punter parade thing was on.
Apt timing, sure, a few of us went along and partied like it was 2006.
Crisis, can you cope. Arrive and these Jaeger girls are prancing about selling shots in test tubes.
And if you buy 5, you get a free Jaesor. Not a lasor, but a very average, stupid piece of consumer marketing shit that Peas usually goes bosbefok for, because it seems:
2) really cool before you realise its not cool, 5 seconds later
So we drank Jaeger out of test tubes, passed around a bottle of wine while dancing under heaters in a sweaty tent, and cane and cream soda.
I kid you fucking not, and Christ if I didn’t have losers yesterday.
E was like ‘Ooooh! Let’s have a John Deere, we don’t get those in Egypt!’ (Consider that a serious fucken fortitude, friend. You don’t see John Deeres, which means maybe you live in a cultural place, you lucky bitch.)
And so, suddenly, out of nowhere I was as drunk as I was 3 years ago.
On the way home, I stopped in at Woolies.
And I wake up, open my fridge and find:
1) a fuck off brie cheese – with a giant wedge out of it, that appears to have been hacked away with a spoon
2) A new bottle of tomato sauce (I have two in there already. Come ON.)
3) Half a smashed chicken pie
4) An untouched package of sliced sandwich beef (WTF for?)
5) A bucket of croutons.
6) Wieners. Kids wieners with the cheese inside.
That’s a monolithically stupid midnight shop, if I’ve ever seen one.
But it gets worse:
7) Two magazines, still in their pacakaging, (Cosmo and SL, if you care), sitting. On. The.Middle.Shelf. Of my fridge.
The magazines have literally, been chilling, in my fridge all night.
Christ. Where is my life? What am I doing with my life? Where am I going? Need to stand back and reassess, shit?
You know when you wake up at 4:00am, parched, drier than a nun’s poenani [sorry – but no other description is more apt at this moment], and you just reach for whatever so that you don’t prunate yourself by means of decanedration?
(Honestly, I know now why I stopped drinking that shit. Besides finding men with three eyes attractive, it’s poison. Pure unadulterated poison. It felt like I’d spawned myself directly out of Satan’s man-womb the next day. Besides the mental side affects of 24-hour retardation.)
So I find like five empty bottles of water strewn about my kitchen counter. Amongst a foray of stray pie crumbs.
Was a good night clearly.
Sure, felt like an extra in The Hangover, and did watch it in a post-party stupor to cure myself of all my evils, but hell. I thought nights like these were over.
PS: Monday morning, taxi stops in the middle of intersection, causing massive traffic jam and congestion behind him. As I roar past, I think, 'Damn. What a cunt.'